Memories of Other Things
by Polydicta
Summary: The now obligatory selection of non-Harry Potter plot-bunnies, orphaned scenes, omakes and idiocy that sometimes bring my mind to a grinding halt. Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation. Brain-bleach recommended!
1. Dr Whom?

**Memories of Other Things - 1 - Dr Whom?**

by Polydicta

Dr Who. London has more than its fair share of alien invasions.

(Prompted by the idea that TARDIS chameleon circuits might just seize upon an appearance that the TARDIS happens to enjoy.)

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

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**Memories of Other Things - 1 - Dr Whom?**

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It was the fourth of November, the day before fireworks night and ex-Copper, Derek Jones had the complete collection.

He was a collector of, well, incidents that he was involved with. Not in any major way, just stuff that had happened around wherever he was.

The first one was the Machine under Hob's End - something that had been finished off by that Quatermass chap. After that, he'd been in Shoreditch when the Daleks arrived.

He'd been there when the Yetis were down in The Underground tunnels, he'd met Cybermen (disturbingly quiet), Daleks (several times - by Gawd, they were shouty buggers), Ice Warriors (a couple were regulars down in the Rose & Crown, these days), he's been hunted by the Slitheen around the time that Downing Street had been nuked (and wasn't THAT a damned good idea).

He's been there when those strangler vines came out of the sea. He's been there when that sucking void appeared outside the Post Office in Cowdrew Square (he HAD tried to chuck that bitch from Number 6, Mrs McMasters in, but was too slow.) She got her come-uppance when the Autons arrived and took over the shop mannequins. There WAS alien justice, it seemed.

Hell, he was in the audience when those idiot students tried to do a production of the recovered fragments of Love's Labours Won in The New Globe. Happily, THEY were the ones who got eaten first.

Now there was that bloody mooing-noise that Doctor bloke's TARDIS made in the alley he was walking down.

Instead of a dark blue Police Box (who would be stupid enough to disguise a space ship as a police telephone box, anyway?), he saw a Dalek appear.

He may be the wrong side of eighty, but he dived behind a dumpster, not willing to tangle with a shouty, homicidal machine.

It didn't shout.

It didn't move.

Not even a little bit.

It just stood there, just the same as the ones he saw and fought in 1964.

Eerily silent (for a Dalek, anyway).

Then the front opened and three people walked out - an excited, mad-looking woman in a Victorian-era outfit, a short, black-skinned fellow with startling green eyes and pale hair, and a tall woman (?) with purpleish hair, bronze skin and a mouth that opened the wrong way (sideways).

Derek Jones sighed. They must be here to watch the Guy Fawkes invasion this year ...

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	2. Dalek

**Memories of Other Things - 2 - Dalek**

by Polydicta

Dr Who. A still humanoid Davros stumbles during one particular bombardment of the Kaled dome.  
'tis a silly story.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

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**Memories of Other Things - 2 - Dalek**

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It was almost the eve of Elite Scientist Davros' _Great work_. He had forseen the terrible cost that the nutronic radiation, the bioweapons and the chemical weapons would finally wreak on his people. The planet was all but dead outside of the habitat domes, and the Kaled race was doomed to become a boneless, octopoid lump of tissue. The future fate of the Thal race was uncertain, but Davros felt no pity for them. Let them become what they may.

Davros had designed the armoured travel machines that his people would require - armoured, beweaponed vehicles with almost inexhaustable power, life support and relative comfort for an essentially disembodied brain.

He had unlocked the genetic code that would allow him to manipulate the future beings' mindsets and emotions in order to fit them for life as cyborgs.

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As Davros walked to the laboratory, planning the changes to the Kaled genome, the floor and walls rocked sharply, causing him to stumnle and catch his head on the frame of an open doorway, dazing him somewhat.

Once the attack was over, he hastened to the laboratory, albeit somewhat drunkenly. His mind wandering to the green and fertile land that Skaro once had been.

Once there, he started the genetic resequencing, still somewhat distracted. Complete, he started the process of altering a number of the Kaled clones, essentially starting the production line making his Dalek warriors.

At the same time, injured and crippled Kaleds were volunteering to undergo conversion and emplacement in the new weapons platforms.

Davros locked down the process so that it could not be changed, and could not be stopped. Spent from the final effort, he went to lay down on a cot in his office. As he slept, his head injury came into play. A blood vessel ruptured and he slipped from sleep to coma, ad then into death.

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The Thal dome had come under no bombardment in some months, so the Thal Central Command sent out a scouting party.

A week passed before they returned with photographs of squat machines levelling the scortched ground, laying metal roadways and building raised farm beds.

The horror was stated quite succinctly by one young soldier. "They looked at us and screamed, "**_PROP-A-GATE_**!"

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	3. Duckmen Book Review

**Memories of Other Things - 3 - Book Review: The Duckmen of Ankh Morpork**

by Polydicta

A little Discworld stuff. Humour presented as a book review.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

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**Memories of Other Things - 3 - Book Review: The Duckmen of Ankh Morpork**

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Following the success of his previous book, Bacon and The Morporks of the Ankh Basin, Aloysius Scrivenshanks has published his new book about the legendary duckmen of Ankh Morpork.

This slim volume, a mere 198 pages, covers the appearance of the earliest Duckmen, their rise, two to three generations of prominence in society and their inevitable decline until, at the present time, there is but one Duckman remaining under the foot of the social ladder.

The first Duckman, we are told, was a gentleman by the name of Thomas Mallard who arrived from the Ramtops during the reign of Webblethorpe the Unconscious. By the time of Deranged Lord Harmoni, the Duckmen were an integral part of Ankh Morpork, and part of the top echelons of society - who has not heard of Lord Harmoni's Duck and Goose-Fowl Revels?

Homicidal Lord Winder was a man of mixed phobias, and suffered mightily from anatidaephobia, and began a systematic excision of everything duck and goose from the city. Mad Lord Snapcase all but saw to the extinction of the Duckmen, and only the birth of Reginald Drake, mere months before Lord Snapcase was hung by his figgin, averted their demise altogether. Reginald Drake achieved his Duck at the age of 23, and is now a well recognised member of The Canting Crew. By all accounts, Lord Snapcase's deposit ($50,000 AM) and Inhumation Order for any Duckman is still outstanding.

By turns amusing and sad, always enthralling, the author leads us gently through this oft forgotten part of the city's past - and present.

The Duckmen of Ankh Morpork. Scrivenshanks, A. Solid Plate Press, Old Cobblers, Ankh Morpork. (Year of The Justifiably Defensive Lobster)

$3.50 AM.


	4. Room 101

**Memories of Other Things - 5 - Room 101**

by Polydicta

Anthony Burgess' seminal work - 1984.

What if Winston's fear were not quite what O'Brien thought it was?

Warning for particular horror and torture.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

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**Memories of Other Things - 5 - Room 101**

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O'Brien regarded Winston.

"You asked me once, what was in Room 101. I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world."

"What?"

"Rats, Winston."

A look of horror came over Winston's face. "Are they properly hungry?"

"Oh yes, " replied O'Brien, "they haven't been fed in six days."

A strange expression came over Winston's face. "Fine. Do it."

O'Brien's face was a picture of horror. No one had ever _asked_ for the final torture to be used.

The cage was fitted to Winston's face.

"Last chance, Winston. Denounce her!"

"Do it and be damned!"

The gate was opened and the hungry rats rushed forward.

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Once it was over, and Winston sat, covered in blood, O'Brien felt more than somewhat queasy.

There was a loud belch.

"Hmm, not bad. Certainly better tasting than I was expecting. Better than grey rations, at least. Got any more?"

O'Brien quietly fainted.

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End file.
